


Have You Heard About Our Ted?

by Ilthit



Category: Father Ted
Genre: Coming Out, Gossip, Humor, M/M, Priests, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ted has his eye on the Craggy Island Person of the Year award (and the prize money), but gossip about him and Dougal and the arrival of a conservative bishop as a guest judge threaten to put an end to his hopes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have You Heard About Our Ted?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tootsiemuppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsiemuppet/gifts).



Of all those moments of lateral thinking that Dougal could occasionally exhibit there were few that lived up to the one that had enabled Ted to kick Bishop Brennan up the arse. Nothing lends more validity to a rumour than outright denial. Pretend you haven't even heard of the whole thing, that's the key. You would never kick the bishop up the arse, so you coudn't possibly have kicked the bishop up the arse. Brilliant.

Mrs Graham was making it difficult.

"Oh, it's been out ever since Mrs Bull heard Father McGuire mention it to John and Mary." The dumpy little woman took a sip of her third cup of tea. "Of course that's just Father McGuire, and not many people believed it, but you can't keep a secret once people have got a hold of the idea, not in a small community like ours."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs Graham," said Ted weakly.

"Ah, you don't have to be like that with me, Father," said Mrs Graham. "If you're thinking about the Craggy Island Person of the Year competition, you shouldn't worry. You've still got our votes."

Ted hadn't even considered that. Public opinion put it between him and Tom, and Ted suspected the only reason he was in the lead was because it had only been a few weeks since Tom had been acquitted on the sheep charge and the story was still fresh in everyone's mind.

"We're all quite used to the idea by now." She patted his arm affectionately. "You know what they call us over at the Inter-Parish Ladies' Knitting Correspondence Club?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Mrs Graham. But you don't have to--"

"'The parish with a couple of priests'!" Mrs Graham broke into a hooting laugh.

Mrs Doyle was taking an awful long time at the shop. Mrs Graham took Scottish honey in her tea and Mrs Doyle had simply refused to let her settle for anything else. She'd been gone for nearly an hour and Mrs Graham was cheerfully ingesting good old local honey, which Tom's dad mixed liberally with syrup.

"What... little things, Mrs Graham?"

"Well, there was that time Father Jessup says he and Bishop Brennan caught you two at it the moment you thought their backs were turned," said Mrs Graham with the tone of recitation every good piece of gossip develops over time.

"At it?"

"Cuddling, don't you know."

"It could only have been an innocent, brotherly embrace between two men of the cloth. Really now, Mrs Graham."

"Then there was that Eurovision song contest. Fiona Willis says those lyrics were a classic case of masking homosexual undertones with naïve and simplistic imagery."

"It was about a horse!"

"Ah, yes, and there was the time Father Cagney asked you why you followed Father McGuire up the stairs at night and you said it was because you like to have sex with him."

"Sleep!" Ted spluttered. "I said I sleep with him! I mean, I meant... You know we just share the room because it's the only one without a draft in it. There are two beds, Mrs Graham. I can take you upstairs right now and show you, if you like."

Mrs Graham's face was a picture. "Into your bedroom, Father?"

How she could be coy about a priest showing an elderly lady his bedroom at this point was a mystery to Ted, but he did not question it. "Well, you can ask Mrs Doyle as soon as she comes back."

"Of course, Father."

Ted wouldn't have minded so much about the Person of the Year competition if there hadn't been a cash prize. They were all out of incence, mainly because Ted had lost the incence fund at the goat races. And, well, it would not do wonders to a man's self-esteem to lose to a felon who had as many shirts as he had eyebrows, which was to say, one.

The old clock on the kitchen wall seemed to tick the seconds all the slower. "And how is your husband, Mrs Graham?"

"Still dead since the last time you asked, Father."

Ted was about to offer another cup of tea when a cheerful 'helloooo' heralded Mrs Doyle's return. Ted would have loved to take the opportunity to slip away while the females cooed their greetings, but there was a matter to be cleared up. "Ah, there you are, Mrs Doyle. You changed the sheets for me and Father McGuire this morning, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course." Mrs Doyle tittered. "You men, hoh! Need changing when you're little and more changing when you're all grown up, don't you?"

"I just wanted to tell you what a splendid job you did putting nice crisp new sheets in _both_ our _separate_ beds."

"It was no trouble, Father, but thank you for noticing. Why you don't just take the double from the guest room and halve the work for me, though, I'll never understand."

Ted forced a laugh, which came out rather high-pitched."But Mrs Doyle, Dougal and I couldn't possibly share a single bed. It wouldn't be proper. You see, there's some ridiculous rumour going around that—"

"It would save you the trouble of pushing them together in the evening and then pushing them apart again in the morning, too. That's how I know it's time to put the kettle on, all that scraping and shifting of furniture at 11:30 in the morning."

Mrs Doyle set down her pack of four cans of Blairgowrie honey and Ted escaped upstairs with a mumbled word. He hid in the bathroom until Mrs Graham was gone and Dougal brought Father Jack back from his walk.

"No - better leave that where it is tonight, Dougal," said Ted that evening as Dougal went to pick up the nightstand that barricaded the two beds.

"Why's that, Ted?" Dougal asked but put it back down obediently.

"What if we disturb Mrs Doyle? All this moving about late at night."

Dougal went into one of his pauses. Ted knew by now that it was only a resting period while a thought worked its way through the rusty cogs of his mind.

"Ted."

"Yes?" Ted slipped discreetly into his pajama bottoms.

"How are we going to push the beds together if the nightstand is in the way, Ted?"

"We're not, Dougal, that's the point."

Another pause, during which Dougal found his way into his pajamas and pulled on his woolly socks.

"Ted?"

"Yes, Dougal?"

"Thing is, Ted - I like it when the beds are pushed together."

"I know. I like it too. It's just that--" Ted sighed and pulled the covers up over himself. "Don't you think we've been too careless for too long? We can't get away with it forever. They could kick us out of the church for this sort of thing."

"Oh, Ted," said Dougal. "That's mad. Why would they kick us out of the church for moving furniture after 9 pm?"

"It's not the furniture, it's what we do once it's been moved!"

"Oh," said Dougal. Ted never knew if he was playing dumber than he was, but then again, with Dougal, that would be difficult. "You mean the sex."

"Yes, Dougal, I mean the sex, the sex that Catholic priests should not, on the whole, be having, especially with each other. People are talking. They call us a--"

"What, Ted?"

"A couple."

"What, like John and Mary?" Dougal climbed into his bed and pulled up his covers. It had been a while since Ted had seen him like that, snug and ordinary and untouchable under layers of night clothes and the worn-through He-Man sheets.

Ted turned away so he didn't have to look. "No, not like John and Mary." Thank goodness. John had broken Mary's arm again just last week, and been admitted to the hospital with stab wounds a few days later.

"Well, we are though, aren't we, Ted?"

"What?"

"A couple of priests, like they say down at the pub. There's two of us. And Father Jack, of course, but he doesn't do a lot of priesting these days, does he?"

"Just go to sleep, Dougal." Ted reached over and flicked off the light.

After a moment, a voice asked in the darkness, "Ted?"

"Yes, Dougal?"

"I'm not stupid, you know. I know we're not supposed to. But we're not supposed to gamble, either. Why is sex worse than gambling?"

Ted opened his mouth, but he had no answer.

"Because I don't see how we're hurting anyone. It doesn't matter who you love as long as you love. That's what they always say at the Double Rainbow."

"The what?"

"Double Rainbow. You know, Craggy Island's Gay and Lesbian Association. We picketed it once when Bishop Brennan wanted to make a stand against there being gay people on television. You had a big sign that said 'Turn to Christ' on one side for when the bishop came around, and 'Sorry' on the other side for when he was gone."

"Dougal, why have you been talking to the Craggy Island's Gay and Lesbian Association?"

"Why not? They're lovely, and on Wednesdays they have these biscuits that look like rainbows. I wonder how they do that."

"I'm sure they're lovely, it's just that – this is one of those priest things you don't understand. We need to practice restraint. Give up fleshly pleasures. That was the whole point of swearing off women in the first place."

"So... because of all that stuff about God creating us, and then his son coming down to save us all, and how we all go to Hell if we don't worship them, and because someone wrote it all down in a big book we read from on Sundays, we can't cuddle."

"Dougal."

"Ted. I want a cuddle."

"Jesus Christ and Holy Mother Mary," Ted prayed. "All right then, Dougal. Come on."

They moved the furniture with extra care, barely scraping the floorboards. Dougal curled up happily in the crook of Ted's arm.

Ted was convinced he was a victim of circumstance. He'd had his crisis of faith and his crisis of sexuality and his crisis of oh-God-what-kind-of-a-person-would-do-this-with-Dougal but, in the small hours of the night, he knew those were nothing compared to the fact that you simply did not refuse Dougal cuddles when Dougal wanted cuddles, and it had turned out to be the same way with handjobs. Ted would go further still – it was also very little compared to the simple pleasure of being touched. God, you had to be mad to be celibate.

The biggest private confession of all was that all that – sex, intimacy, puppy eyes – had yet to face their biggest competition for Ted's heart and mind, and it wasn't God, but convention. Ted could live with the nagging suspicion of being headed straight for Hell. He wasn't so sure about public humiliation.

Also, he really wanted that prize money.

Ted went to sleep with the smell of Dougal's lemony shampoo in his nostrils and woke up next morning to a puff of morning breath. Something had changed in the night. A spirit of optimism had welled up from some unknown source, and Ted found himself greeting the new day with defiant cheer.

There was no crisis here, no setback. Dougal's brainwave still worked. Those who couldn't believe priests would get up to that sort of thing had no compelling evidence to the contrary, and those who listened to gossip took it in stride, according to Mrs Graham. Gossips probably knew and believed more about human nature than any other species of conversationalist. The bottom line was thatwhatever people were saying, they'd still voted him into the top five candidates for Person of the Year. The competition being what it was, it was practically in the bag. And how could he be a bad person if he was also the Person of the Year?

*

Ted put the phone down. His shoulders couldn't sag any lower without permanently damaging his spine. This sort of thing happened every time. Why did this sort of thing have to happen every time?

"Bishop Kent is coming to stay," he told Dougal and Jack, but Jack was asleep.

"Oh?" said Dougal over his breakfast cereal.

"He's going to be a guest judge on the panel." Ted rubbed his temples. "Dougal, that's me done for the Person of the Year award. Bishop Kent has made his career on a highly conservative platform. A public vote of confidence will never persuade him to vote for a gay priest."

Dougal's grin grew confused. "But we don't have any gay priests, Ted."

"Us, Dougal! Me!"

"Ho! Ted! Are you gay? You never told me."

Ted clenched his fists and very nearly swore at the heavens, but he knew he didn't need to garner any more demerits from that direction. "Yes! No! Maybe! I don't know, Dougal!" He slumped down on the chair opposite Dougal's at the breakfast table.

"ARSE!" contributed Father Jack, startling himself awake.

"I don't think so. It doesn't matter, anyway. It's all about how people see you. Listen, Dougal. When we pick up Bishop Kent from the ferry, we have to make sure he doesn't talk to anybody but us before the event at the town hall. We should try to keep him away from Mrs Doyle, too, as much as possible. We'll have to give her the evening off and make our own tea."

"All right, Ted. Why?"

"We can't let Bishop Kent find out what people are saying. It's not just about incense fund. I have a score-settling match of croquet against Father Byrne coming up next month and I have to prove I have the funds to enter."

"Also we might get excommunicated," said Dougal cheerfully.

"Yes, Dougal. Also that." Ted couldn't think about that right now. It was too big.

Friday afternoon was soggy and pallid - ideal weather, really, for Craggy Island. Ted had ushered the bishop straight from the ship to the best seat in the car, the one Father Jack's drink hadn't yet perforated with acid burns. The only other person they saw was Tom, who was sitting on his wall watching the ship come in as he did every day. Ted was happy to point him out as the 'other candidate'.

Bishop Kent was an elderly man with steel-grey curls and a nose shaped remarkably like a battered potato. He had given Ted a brief, practiced grimace in greeting, which after a moment Ted had recognized as a smile. He was not at all used to bishops smiling, and it was shredding his already fragile nerves.

"You'll like the parochial house," Ted told him. "It's not much, but it has history. It's homey. Actually, I'm pretty sure that once you're there you'll hardly want to step foot outside until it's time to leave."

"Whether I want to or not, I will have to," grunted the bishop.

"Well, yes, the event is tomorrow."

"And to meet my future diocese."

"Your what?"

"I'm challenging Bishop Brennan for the diocese. The archbishop agrees it's time to bring me out of suffragancy. The only problem is that the archbishop, though a lovely man, is a wet old fool. He thinks a bishop ought to be popular with his flock. The people here know Brennan. Now they need to get to know me. Why do you think I agreed to judge this silly competition in the first place?"

"I see," said Ted. He was not at all sure Bishop Kent would be an improvement over Brennan, especially since Ted so far had no incriminating home videos of Kent to use as leverage.

"I'll just have a quick wash at the house and then I have a dinner party at the town hall to attend."

Ted showed the bishop to his room and went to the kitchen. Dougal had forgotten to put water in the kettle and anything poured out of it now tasted like burnt iron, so Ted put some water to boil in pot instead.

"I could use some of that lateral thinking now," he told Dougal.

"Oh, right."

Ted saw his expression. "It means taking an innovative approach to-- Never mind. I guess we'll just have to hope for the best."

Ted had been graciously re-invited to the dinner party after explaining over the phone that since the bishop would be joining them, his host's duties no longer prevented him accepting. Dougal was invited as well, almost as an afterthought.

"You know what, Ted," said Dougal as he straightened up Ted's collar in the bedroom, minutes before they were due to go. "I wouldn't mind being excommunicated all that much. Could give us a chance to do something else, like be firemen or run a zoo."

"You want to be a zookeeper?"

"Well, yes, Ted. Doesn't everybody?"

"Well, that's fine for you, Dougal, but what would I do? All I know is being a priest, and I'd like to continue to be a priest. And maybe live in the mainland and visit America again and have a pool somewhere sunny, but mainly to be a priest and praise God and have a decent steady income. We'd lose the house and all our books. What would become of Father Jack and Mrs Doyle?"

"I'd take care of you," Dougal offered. "You've been taking care of us for a long time, now, Ted. I might as well take a turn."

"Thanks, Dougal," said Ted, trying not to think too hard about a future as Dougal the zookeeper's kept man.

Mrs Chapple's dinner parties didn't tend to be very large, but one got the impression they would have been very large indeed had Craggy Island sported more of what she considered sophisticated, intelligent company. Sadie Chapple had been a milkmaid as a girl, and, Ted supposed, felt she had something to make up for now that her Fergus was mayor.

The town hall's meeting room had been converted into a dining room for the event. Mrs Chapple presided in her finery at the end of a glittering, well-stocked table, while Mayor Chapple dozed in the other. The two priests were divided by one half of the island's Ladies' Literary Society - the other half being Mrs Chapple - and surrounded by most of the council members, as well as the island's only two declared atheists, Hamish Finnegan and Fiona Willis. Ted guessed they had been invited to offset the bishop, who was placed in the best spot on the table on Mrs Chapple right hand.

Conversation flowed in the happy directions of the garden show, the surprise result at the goat races and the stuff they had on the telly these days. Somewhere towards the start of the main course, Bishop Kent began to warm up on the subject of ecclesiastical politics. "...Too much leniency towards sin," he was saying to Mrs Chapple. "Morality is what sets a Christian apart from a layman, and a man from an animal."

"And what are good morals, bishop?" asked Fiona Willis sharply. "Integrity? Charity?"

"Certainly," answered the bishop. "As well as modest conduct, humility and abstinence. Every man and woman has the obligation to keep their minds and bodies pure for the service of the Lord."

Fiona, who was the island's librarian, was also in the running for Person of the Year. She'd never get it now with a bishop as judge - at least not unless she could take out the competition. "What would you say," said Fiona, glancing in Ted's direction, "of a priest found wanting in his morals?"

"I would think him unfit for his office," said the bishop promptly.

"Chris is in the lead again for Sheep of the Year," said Ted to Hamish Finnegan, a little louder than necessary. "The ban's only just been lifted."

"You mentioned purity of body. No sex outside marriage? How do you feel about homosexuality?"

"The Bible is quite explicit on the subject, Miss Willis," said the Bishop mildly. "I'm a servant of the church. My personal opinion doesn't matter."

"Indulge me."

"Sin is sin - none of it is permissible."

"What do you think, Father?" asked Fiona sweetly, turning to Ted.

Ted opened his mouth to give his standard answer when Dougal beat him to it. "Everybody stop!" he cried out. The table stared at him. "Put your forks down and step away from the table, in the name of your eternal souls."

"What are you on about?" Ted hissed and tried to to tug Dougal back to his seat.

"If sin is sin, no matter which kind of sin it is, we're all sinning right now." Dougal pointed at the table. "That's bacon, that is. Bacon is made of pigs. Pigs have cloven feet. Sin. I read all about it last night in that big black book we're always reading from."

"The Bible?"

"That's the one."

The bishop sat back. "This is an old argument and has been lengthily addressed elsewhere, Father McGuire."

"No, really," said Dougal, eyes wide. "I'm not sure if I believe in Heaven and Hell in the first place, but I don't want to be unfit. I'd like to continue to be a priest, if you don't mind too much. I bet you'd like to continue to be a bishop. And if sin is sin and it's all the same to God, well, I think we all have some praying to do if we want to keep our jobs."

"Do you agree with this nonsense, Crilly?" demanded Bishop Kent.

"That would be an ecumenical matter," said Ted.

"You know what's also a sin? Working on Sundays. That's one of the big ones, even. God wrote it on a stone slate himself. And priests work on Sundays! It's mad!"

"Very well, Father McGuire," said Bishop Kent. "Let's get into it, shall we? Yes, there are mortal sins and venial sins, and some of them can be forgiven while others never can. Some sins are worse than others. Are you satisfied?"

"I read about that too," said Dougal. "Venial sins are sins you didn't really mean to commit, you just didn't know they were sins. But you're a bishop. You must know about Sundays."

Silence fell into the room, broken only by Hamish Finnegan's giggle.

"Mass is a celebration of God. It is a way of honouring the Sabbath. Really, Father. There are thousands of theologians around the world debating these questions. It's all been said and I expect I know a great deal more of the answers than you do." Seeming to remember his crowd, the bishop added, "We can discuss your doubts tomorrow, if you wish."

"All right," said Dougal and sat down, "but no more bacon for me all the same, thanks."

It started with Hamish Finnegan. A burst of open laughter, then a slow clap of appreciation. The table breathed a collective sigh of relief and a few joined in. Old Bill Mulgrave shouted 'what!' repeatedly and rolled a finger in his ear.

Ted lifted his face from his hands to see the alarm in the bishop's eyes before his face tightened into a pallid version of that dreadful practiced grimace.

The drive home passed in awkward silence. Ted sent Dougal up to bed before he could start up another debate and offered the bishop, in light of his views on the purity of the body, some fresh cherry juice and biscuits.

"I could use something a little stronger, actually," said Bishop Kent. Ted brought out the red wine.

"Quite a young rebel you have there, Father," said Bishop Kent as he sipped his wine. It was getting harder to read his grimaces. "Is the rest of your parish as liberal as Mrs Mayor's table?"

"She does like to mix with all sorts, Your Grace," said Ted. "More wine?"

"Do not attempt to sidestep my question, Crilly. I'll only be here for a few days and I want to get the lay of the land. Is Craggy Island a rare fort of liberalism among isolated communities? Does it test the rule of conservatism in rural areas?"

Ted was beginning to see where this was going. "We do have a gay and lesbian association, Your Grace."

"Hmh!" The bishop held his glass out to be refilled.

"And a Chinatown... I expect we are more diverse than most parishes in these parts. There's a Buddhist centre on Main Road." He did not mention that it was a section of the Yin family's garden with a tiny shrine that they opened to the public on Wednesdays.

"Judging by the conduct of your junior colleague, you don't do much to check these liberal tendencies. Yet I understand you're among the five people to choose from tomorrow. They must like you."

"I am happy to believe I do enjoy the confidence of the parish, Your Grace."

"But they don't like you enough to have voted for the parish's principal priest for most of the 1990s. I believe this is the first time either you or Father McGuire have been in the running – and it's likely just because you were entered into the Eurovision Song Contest on some ridiculous scam a couple of years back."

Ted's face fell, but the bishop already seemed to be thinking of something else. "The beginning of the end, it is. Liberals. They'll soon have us thinking people don't need the church."

"Oh no, Your Grace. The church is the cornerstone of Craggy Island's society. But--" he chose his words carefully, "small communities have a strong sense of unity, which calls upon us to tolerate each other's little foibles. Persistent kindness – that is my motto. It seems to go down well with the laity."

"Disgusting." The bishop sighed. "Well, Crilly, I believe I've made my choice for tomorrow."

"Really?" said Ted, trying not to sound too pleased. "But you haven't even met all the candidates yet."

"Irrelevant. I would like to retire now. Thank you for the wine, Father. Very acceptable."

"Not at all. Mrs Doyle?"

Mrs Doyle smiled her way in from the kitchen. "Yes, Father?"

"Please show His Grace into our best guest bedroom."

As soon as the bishop had disappeared upstairs, Ted indulged himself with a small victory dance. The bishop would sway the other judges, hand over the money, and be gone the next day. It would be business as usual again, with a little extra to bet against Father Byrne. He had another glass of the wine to finish the bottle off and then went upstairs.

"Good news, Dougal," said Ted as he walked into the bedroom. "The bishop said he's made his choice."

Dougal, who was already under the blankets on his side of the make-shift double bed, put down The Picture Book Bible. "Great! Who is it?"

"Well, it's got to be me, hasn't it? He hasn't even met the other candidates. He saw Tom briefly, which also works in my favour." Ted rubbed his hands. "We might get through this yet, Dougal. I'm going to lock the door. I don't want to take even a tiny chance."

"What chance is that, Ted?"

"The chance that a wandering bishop might see what I'm about to do to you," said Ted and pulled off his shirt.

*

The event was staged at the public meeting hall just down the road from the town hall. The Pighands' Brass Band had just finished blasting out a rendition of "Take me Home, Country Roads" at an audience of twenty-four, who were seated on hard benches before the stage. The judges sat behind a long table to the side.

Mrs Chapple took the podium. "Thank you very much, Mr Ham and the Pighands' Brass Band. How very loud. I mean lovely. And now, to introduce our third candidate for the Craggy Island Person of the Year, here's Terry Gleeson."

Ted bit his lip. Ever since the settlement, Terry was contractually obliged not to mention the events that took place on the Kilkelly Caravan Park.

"One thing I have to say for Tom," began Terry, "is that I've never caught him peeking at me and the wife while we're having the old conjugals."

Another half hour passed, and then the audience was ushered into the cafeteria for refreshments while the judges conferred. Ted splurged on extra cream for his hot chocolate. 

"Do you think it's going to be a tight race this year, Father?" asked Josie Willis, sister of Fiona and secretary of the Double Rainbow.

"I expect so," lied Ted. "Good luck to your sister."

"Thank you, Father, although I did vote against her this year. We disagree on the subject of alimony for men. What do you think? Should gender enter into divorce law?"

"I'm afraid I'm contractually obliged to object to divorce in the first place." Not even politics could dampen his mood now.

"Right. Oh, hello, Father McGuire," Josie said as Dougal wandered near holding a crumbling piece of cake on a paper plate. "Are you coming to Pride next week?"

"Pride?" asked Ted.

"Yes, our annual Pride march. You remember, you picketed it last year."

"Ah. Sorry about that--"

"That's what your sign said."

"It's just that the church-- Can we talk about this later?"

"Fair enough, Father."

"Ted, can I go to Pride?"

"No," said Ted firmly, took Dougal by the arm and led him out towards to wall displaying winners of the under-16s art contest.

The audience, now short a few stragglers, was called back to hear the results. Bishop Kent took the podium and cleared his throat vigorously enough to dislodge a half-ingested slug. "I have been a servant of the church for nearly all of my adult life," he began. "If anything, the church has reinforced in me the values of integrity, honesty, and fairness – a worldview of compassion that does not allow for favouritism. Since we have two men of the cloth in the running, I struggled with my choice today. I was resolved to vote for anyone of equal worth who did not benefit from the protection of the Holy Church, to show my conviction that every single member of this community is precious in the eyes of Our Lord."

Ted wasn't worried. He knew there was a 'but' coming.

"But during my brief stay on Craggy Island, I have been so far impressed by one of the candidates through his outright and honest nature, and the glowing reports of his flock, that I was able to support the new Person of the Year with a clear conscience and a serene heart. It is exactly his kind of questioning and challenging attitude, and his philosophical acumen, that the parish needs as we move forwards into the next millennium. The judges' vote is nearly unanimous at four to one. I give you your Craggy Island's Person of the Year 1999 – Father Dougal McGuire!"

Ted recovered enough to clap automatically as Dougal was ushered to the podium. It wasn't what he'd expected, but not a disaster, either. The incense fund would be replenished and the little extra could be put away before Dougal spent it on more board games. Losing to Dougal was hardly more humiliating than losing to Tom would have been. It was all good.

"Wow," said Dougal into the microphone. "Look at this, Ted. And you said they'd never vote for a gay priest!"

*

It was getting on to midnight and the last of the guests had just left. The living room was still strewn over with rainbow-coloured ticker tape and feather boas. Father Jack had been wrestled from his chair and into his bed, where he rested with a blissful smile on his face, a party hat on his head, and an empty bottle of whiskey still clutched in his hand.

The bishop was long gone, having taken a taxi to the ferry almost before Dougal had climbed off the podium to be hugged by Josie and congratulated by Mrs Chapple. He had only paused on his way out to tell Ted to tell Bishop Brennan he was welcome to this cesspit of loose morals. If there was a shoe yet to drop, it was taking its time.

Mrs Doyle shuffled in with her tray of tea things. "One more cuppa before bed, Fathers?"

"Thanks, Mrs Doyle," said Dougal and took a cup.

"I might as well," said Ted, who was too exhausted to argue about it.

"You know, I have to say, I think it's disgusting."

"What is, Mrs Doyle?"

"All those homosexuals parading their lifestyle around. It's all right to have them over for tea, Father, but you wouldn't want to make it a regular thing. Might look like you approve."

"Mrs Doyle... You knew about the beds upstairs, how they were pushed together?"

"Yes?"

"...Never mind." Ted felt suddenly reckless. "Actually, you know what? Let's move the double bed to the main bedroom like you said this morning. It'll make less work for you in the future."

"Really, Father?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Bless you, Father."

"Not at all, Mrs Doyle." She seemed to be waiting for something, so he added, "Off you go, better get it done before bedtime."

"Right you are, Father," the little woman said, put the tray down, and shuffled upstairs.

"Well, Dougal," said Ted and sat down next to his – whatever Dougal was – on the sofa. "Here we are."

"Back to normal."

"Are we? Yes – yes, I suppose we are."

They finished their tea and, once Mrs Doyle was done moving the furniture, went up to bed.


End file.
